


Official Business

by stitchcasual



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: After Kirkwall, Gen, Viscount!Hawke, background fenhawke - Freeform, companionable bickering, wine bottles as projectiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/pseuds/stitchcasual
Summary: A year after the Chantry explodes and Hawke becomes Viscount of Kirkwall, he steals a rare, quiet(er) moment with the two other people helping him hold this city together





	Official Business

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the After Kirkwall zine! It was an incredible project to be a part of, and I'm always pleased to get the chance to write for a viscount!Hawke

Hawke grips the neck of the bottle tight as he braces his other arm against the wall, sinking down onto the steps. He didn’t use to feel this old, couldn’t say for sure when he’d first noticed the creaking in his joints or the additional ache in his back, but they’ve been demanding more of his attention lately. Aveline chuckles at him, but he notices she’s taking longer to sit as well. None of them are as young as they were the day they first set foot on Kirkwall’s docks. That’s good, in a way: the Hawke of ten years ago would not have taken well to the mantle of viscount.

He looks over his shoulder at Fenris, standing at the top of the steps where he has a view of the whole of the main hall in the Viscount’s Keep. Fenris would, perhaps, argue on the merits of Hawke taking the office even now. Fenris believes in him, in what he’s trying to do here, but he also worries for what it’s doing to him. Hawke waves off the frown he sees gathering on Fenris’s face and sets to the delicate task of getting the cork out of the wine bottle.

Across the landing in a position mirroring Fenris is Bran, quill, ink, and parchment at the ready. Despite Hawke’s protestations that this is a gathering of friends and nothing more, the fact that the viscount, the guard captain, and the knight-commander are in the same room means Bran must be too. Hawke angles his head to try and keep Bran out of his visual range, preferring to ignore his aide as much as possible when he can. 

Hawke drinks from the bottle once he has it open, then stuffs the cork back in and jerks his head at Aveline. She has time enough to say, “Hawke, don’t you—” before she abandons speech in favor of catching the bottle as he tosses it to her. Cullen chuckles, though his laughter fades quickly, choked off by the glare Aveline fixes him with and the bottle as it once more flies through the air. Hawke grins and spreads his legs out in a careless sprawl so he takes up about five of the stairs.

“It’s looking good out there, Hawke,” Cullen says after he drinks, walking the bottle over to pass it back to Hawke before settling himself on the steps below Bran with a grimace and clank of platemail. 

“Oh, sure, Hightown is starting to come together.” Hawke swigs at the bottle and leans forward to rest both forearms on his thighs. It puts him a little off kilter, but he’s only had two sips of wine so far; he’s not worried about falling yet. And anyway, he knows Fenris won’t let him get hurt.

The keep is empty this late at night, only the staff and guards around, and none of them are too close by since Fenris and Bran are. It’s the only time Hawke lets his guard down and only with these few people. Of course, it also means that if Fenris decides that tonight Hawke’s earned a bump on the head if he falls down a few steps, there will be no one to witness it. No one who would worry over him, anyway. Those here have seen him take worse hits and live.

“I take it you don’t have much cause to be in Lowtown these days, Knight-Commander.”

“Just what I see on my way from the Docks.”

“I’d recommend a detour next time you come through, but only with a large armed escort.”

Cullen raises his eyebrows and turns to Aveline, who frowns first at Cullen and then at Hawke before actually drinking from the bottle that Hawke tosses to her. She points the neck at Cullen, shaking it as she speaks.

“Yes, the Guard is still stretched thin. We’ve lost a lot of good people over the last year. If you’d lend a few templars to my patrols, we’d have less trouble.”

“You know I can’t—”

“Oh, I know very well what you can and can’t do.”

Aveline nearly pegs Cullen in the face with the wine bottle, but it’s not for nothing the years he’s spent training and drilling with Hawke. Cullen wraps both hands around the bottle, staring at the carpet of the landing. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“The Gallows needs to change,” Hawke said, opening the door to Cullen’s office in the Templar wing.

“Good morning to you, too, Viscount.” Cullen looked up from the parchment he’d been poring over and stood, saluting.

Hawke waved a hand, dismissing any further pleasantries. “What’s different since we killed Meredith?” He closed the office door and crossed to lean against the wall next to Cullen’s desk. 

“We’re fighting for stability right now. It seems a poor time to institute changes. Once things settle down—”

“You don’t have that time.”

“It’s only been a few weeks!”

“And keeping things the way they were before will end with us in the same position we were just in. You know I respect what you do here, but it isn’t working.” Hawke stared at Cullen and arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Cullen straightened, but even his full height couldn’t match Hawke’s. “You know you have no true power over the Gallows.”

“I know.” Hawke shrugged. “But you’ll listen to me anyway.”

A silence took the room, the two men sizing each other up. Cullen paced around the front of his desk and crossed his arms. He’d have the advantage in a fight thanks to his armor and the absolutely ridiculous thin cotton shirt Hawke wore as part of the viscount’s official wardrobe, but Hawke just watched him without moving an inch himself, as though he felt no fear. Considering what he’d personally seen in just the last month, not to mention the last seven years, perhaps that response had already been drained out of him.

Cullen sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow. He sat on the edge of his desk, rolling a hand at Hawke for him to continue.

“You need to let go any templar even suspected of anything untoward with one of the mages.”

With a tired wave at the papers on his desk, Cullen said, “Do you realize how many of them that is? How many reports Meredith had that she did nothing about?”

“I’ve got suspicions. Send those templars away, get them out of Kirkwall. I don’t want any of Meredith’s old guard sticking around. Bring in new recruits, train them right. Meredith taught them fear; you can teach them respect.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“It won’t be. But you can do it. How’s your supply of lyrium?”

Cullen reached over and grabbed one of the papers, handing it to Hawke. “We’ll start to run low in a few months. I’ve gotten letters like that from a few suppliers already, saying they can’t risk sending their people and product into a ‘warzone.’”

Hawke snorted and passed the letter back. “I’ll talk to some people. I know a guy who might be able to help.”

“Of course you do.”

Hawke smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Unlike you, I had a life for the past few years. Now, tell me what your plans are.” When Cullen frowned at him, Hawke rolled his eyes and gestured at the wall toward the Gallows as a whole. “I know you have ideas for how to change things, even if you’re not doing anything yet. Tell me.”

Cullen had years of ideas, most of them discarded by Meredith for being too soft, but Hawke listened to them and nodded his agreement. He may not be a templar in name, but Cullen had trained him as one for a while and his lived experience with his sister and father counted for a lot. His mind made quick tactical work of situations, and as an outsider, he was able to point out some of the flawed logic circuits Cullen had grown used to after so long in the Order.

They talked until past time for lunch and there came a knock at the door. Hawke opened it to Fenris, who whispered into his ear, and Hawke groaned. He turned his back to the hallway, slowly walking backward toward Fenris, and pointed at Cullen.

“Start now.” 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Do you ever miss the way things used to be?” Cullen asks, hunching his shoulders within his armor, and Hawke is struck by just how young Cullen looks. He often forgets that Cullen is the same age as Bethany, given how much rides on his shoulders and how well he’s handled it. While Hawke feels every bit of his thirty-three years and has definitely begun to look it, sometimes it appears as though Cullen ages backward, that all the responsibility he’s taken on only serves to highlight the youth he should have had. Maker knows it’s not fair, but Hawke has long since stopped believing he’d ever get a fair shake.

“Well,” Hawke says, looking up at Fenris. “How many’s it been so far this year? Couple of poisoning attempts, one memorable noble lad who thought he could sneak a broadsword into the keep stuffed down his trousers.”

“Three poisonings,” Fenris says, one eyebrow arched. “And that incident was last year.”

“Stabbed himself in the calf,” Hawke recalls, smiling wistfully. “Highlight of my month. But if that’s all I have to deal with in terms of life-threatening situations, it’s leagues better than getting impaled on a Qunari battleaxe a few times.”

Cullen concedes the point, shrugging and nodding. Aveline’s face tightens and she frowns; Hawke doesn’t think any of his friends have gotten over the few months they all spent fretting over whether or not he’d wake after the injuries he sustained in his fight with the Arishok. Fenris still traces the scars sometimes, after anyone gets particularly close with their assassination attempt.

“At least you listen to me when I tell you what the Guard needs, Hawke,” Aveline mutters. “Meredith was a nightmare as acting viscount. Even if we could go back to the way things were, I wouldn’t trade it for the progress we’ve made.”

“Not enough progress.” Hawke extends one hand toward Cullen, making grabby claw motions. Cullen rolls his eyes before gently lobbing the bottle across the landing to him. “Can’t do work in Lowtown without Hightown screaming about it; the Docks need more berths in working order because operating at half capacity isn’t going to cut it long term, but no one wants to see work slowed on their projects to cover it. And there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to convince Kirkwall as a whole to band together. I’m as good as useless.”

He takes a long drink of wine but doesn’t miss the look Aveline gives Fenris; Hawke estimates in a day or two Fenris might say something about it, but he won’t tonight. Hawke sets the bottle on the landing next to his right foot and reaches up to remove the viscount’s circlet from his head. He twirls it around two fingers for a minute, ignoring the scandalized gasp from Bran, before setting it on the stair in front of him.

It’s the most obvious symbol of office that he has, the one thing that separates him from everyone else in a fancy tunic. The one thing that everyone else in a fancy tunic seems to want to take from him, not like any of them would know the first thing to do with it. As much as the burdens of being viscount weigh on him, as much as he loves and hates Kirkwall in equal measure most days, he’s the only halfway qualified person left in the city.

“Well, I’d rather have useless than inept,” Aveline says. “Now hand over that bottle; I need more to drink if you’re going to be this morose tonight.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“I can spare one additional patrol per day into Hightown, but that’s it, Hawke. You can tell those nobles that they’re not more important than any of the other citizens afraid to leave their homes at night.”

Hawke sat on Aveline’s desk, ignoring the scathing look she gave him. He’d missed her more important papers, he was sure of it, and at least he hadn’t dragged over a chair and placed his boots up there. He’d learned from last time. He shrugged with one arm and sighed.

“I can tell them anything I like. They still think I’m deliberately shorting them. And before you ask, yes, I’ve tried blaming it on you.”

Aveline glared at him.

“If it makes you feel better, they didn’t believe me. Turns out you’re more beloved than I am.”

“I’m shocked.”

Hawke glared back at her.

“Look, Hawke, you’re doing what you can, and I’m proud of you for that. It’s only been a few months since...everything; give them a little longer to come around.”

Hawke picked at a piece of parchment on Aveline’s desk, dropping it and raising his hands in surrender when she slapped a hand down on it. Aveline shoved Hawke off the desk and he let her, sinking with a groan into a chair instead.

Aveline raised an eyebrow as she rounded her desk to sit in the chair next to him.

“Can you talk to Cullen? He won’t listen to me when I ask for templar assistance on the patrols.” Aveline leaned forward, staring intently at Hawke. “I mean it. I really think seeing their insignia would curb the banditry we’re seeing. People respect the Guard, but they respect the Templars more.”

“I’ll do what I can, but he has his hands pretty full with everything at the Gallows.”

“And I have Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown, and the Docks. Feels a bit uneven if you ask me.”

Hawke dug a thumb into his temple below the metal of the viscount’s circlet. “You’re doing great?”

“Don’t patronize me, Hawke. Just get me some help.”

“Maybe Sebastian will loan some people for an extended assignment if Cullen doesn’t come around. I’ll ask him; I’ve got to send him a message anyway.” Hawke glanced at the door to Aveline’s office, closed for their private conference. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s everything for now.” Aveline followed his gaze, and the smile she gave him when she looked back was soft. “How’s Fenris?”

“Better than I am, most days. At least he gets to threaten people with violence.”

“Hawke,” Aveline warned.

“I’ve been extremely polite,” Hawke said. “Much more polite than any of them are to me, at any rate.” He sighed and looked again at the door. “It’s hard sometimes: this...situation is a lot like the one Danarius had him in.”

“He chose this one. That’s important.”

“I know.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Donnic still like being your subordinate?”

Aveline blushed a furious red. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”

Hawke smirked. “As long as you’re still happy, that’s all I need to know. Just making sure I don’t need to dust off my sword and pay him a visit.”

“Don’t you dare, Hawke. I don’t care if he walks out on me; he’s a damn fine guardsman, and I need as many of those as I can get right now.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke levered himself out of his chair and saluted Aveline. “See you next week, Guard Captain.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hawke chuckles and kicks the bottle over, letting it roll across the landing to Aveline. He waves at Bran and makes a drinking motion with his hand. Bran rolls his eyes and sighs, but disappears for a few minutes to return with another wine bottle for them. He takes up his notes again, waiting for something like official business to happen. Hawke sets to digging the cork out of this bottle and fervently hopes they’ll manage to avoid anything like official business for the rest of the night.

It isn’t often he has a moment to relax like this, and less often that Aveline and Cullen are both in the keep at the same time to indulge him. Between the three of them, they’re all the city has for leadership, and it keeps them busy. Aveline may have her office in the same building as Hawke, but she’s on patrol nearly as often as the rest of her people, and Cullen spends the vast majority of his time at the Gallows, mediating between the templars, mages, and concerned citizens. Meetings with all of them are usually hurried things, no time for beating around the bush, and that’s something Hawke has come to greatly appreciate after his days spent listening to nobles wax poetic about what’s gone wrong with the city before finally circling around to their specific grievance.

He raises the bottle in a toast to Aveline once he’s freed the cork. “To being useless.”

“Hear, hear,” Aveline says and drinks.

Hawke passes his bottle to Cullen, who laughs and shakes his head but drinks too.

“I’ve actually been very productive,” he says, as he hands the bottle back to Hawke. 

“No one needs to hear it,” Aveline calls, her voice loud in the stillness of the keep.

Hawke looks up at Fenris, who pointedly directs his gaze elsewhere and only smiles with his eyes so no one else can tell, then over at Cullen, giving him the best shit-eating grin he can conjure. Which, given the wine and the hour, is pretty good, and Hawke laughs, with Cullen not far behind. 

“You sound like Isabela!” Hawke crows to the empty room, flinging his arms out wide. Cullen rescues the wine bottle before it can go flying.

Aveline gasps and nearly throws her bottle at Hawke before thinking better of it and drinking instead.

“How dare you! You take that back, Hawke.”

That only causes Hawke further merriment, and he leans back against the wall, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes as he laughs.

“I’m gonna—tell her. She’ll be—so proud!” he says, barely able to catch a breath.

After a few more indignant noises from Aveline, each less grumpy sounding than the last, she joins in the laughter, and the three leaders of the city absolutely do not do anything remotely approaching official business for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/stitchcasual) where i do absolutely nothing even remotely close to official business, like ever


End file.
